


ink & salt

by sternfleck



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alien Rituals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anal Sex, Armitage Hux in Lingerie, Come Eating, Consent Play, Dirty Talk, Force rituals, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Hux is a monsterfucker, M/M, Nightmares, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Armitage Hux, Praise Kink, Rimming, Ritual Sex, Roleplay, Sacrifice, Service Top Ben Solo, Soulmates, Tentacles, Title Kink, all the tentacle stuff is a roleplay fantasy, brief mention of oviposition, seriously you guys there are Big Feelings, the comfort is smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternfleck/pseuds/sternfleck
Summary: “I’m a terrible man,” says Ben, which makes Armitage shiver and shift again in Ben's arms.“You are. My terrible, evil, inconceivably powerful husband. Supreme ruler of an entire galaxy of stars. You’d give me to the monster to do its worst, wouldn’t you? It would pull me down into its seaside cave and ruin my lovely silk clothes, ravish me. And you’d watch. You wouldn’t care if I survived, much less whether I enjoyed it.”“I’d always care about you,” Ben insists. “I would do the ritual for our benefit. An act of sacrificial magic. So that our reign among the stars would last forever."-On their seaside honeymoon, Ben and Armitage suffer from nightmares of their tragic past lives in a galaxy far away. They calm themselves by enjoying a roleplay scenario, in which Armitage's space villain alter-ego is given as a sexy ritual sacrifice to a tentacle monster.A late fill for the Huxloween 2020 prompt: "Sacrifice."
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 8
Kudos: 151
Collections: Huxloween 2020





	ink & salt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [surrenderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderer/gifts).
  * Inspired by [salt air](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814932) by [surrenderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderer/pseuds/surrenderer). 



> For maximum Huxloween efficiency, this fills several prompts: sacrifice, scared cuddling, alternate timelines, and monsters.
> 
> -
> 
> Some background, for anyone who wants it:
> 
> One night back in July, in Twitter DMs, surrenderer and I entertained each other until morning by writing a story about a _Duel of the Fates_ -timeline ritual sacrifice to a Dark Side tentacle monster. She named that story "ties that bind," because in it, the sacrifice ritual bound the Supreme Leader and Chancellor together in a sacred union—like a Dark Side tentacle marriage. It was a very good story, and perhaps one day we'll write it for public view.
> 
> This fic is not "ties that bind," but I would be remiss if I did not give ample credit to surrenderer for many of the concepts in the smut. To surrenderer: your mind is a grand landscape. I'm gifting you this fic in the hope that I've done justice to a piece of our shared vision.
> 
> Also, this fic takes place in the universe of [surrenderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderer/pseuds/surrenderer)'s fic "[salt air](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814932/chapters/62708974)," a cosy modern AU honeymoon fic originally written as a bedtime story for me. I have taken this gift and let it run wild in my care; this is my second PWP in the "salt"-verse. I have no justification for my crimes, except this: hopefully you will all enjoy reading it.

Out on the porch—especially tonight when the wind has risen to push the fog inland and clear the sky—the crash of the Pacific on the rocks below the cliffs is loud enough to seep into Ben’s dreams and pull him from sleep.

At first, he thinks that’s what’s awakened him. Then lips brush across the palm of his hand again, and Ben turns over on the daybed to see Armitage nuzzling into his hand on the pillow. The tip of his nose is cold, as usual, and it’s no wonder. They’ve drifted apart from where they fell asleep on the daybed in each other’s arms, after the afternoon’s pleasures, and Armitage is not at all dressed for the weather unless he’s borrowing Ben’s warmth by staying close.

The moonlight, though, makes any impracticalities of Armitage’s attire fall away to irrelevance. The clear night lets the moon in through the porch screen, spilling silver across the bed, and in it, Armitage’s gauzy dressing-gown is whiter even than it is naturally, the sheer fabric doing little to hide all that pale skin underneath.

It’s silk or something, printed with pale hexagons containing a many-rayed asterisk, like an emblem or seal. Armitage seems to have some new and luxurious piece to wear every day since they’ve been on their honeymoon. When he went inside to get dressed, then appeared in the porch doorway wearing only this sheerest silk, Ben would have fainted if he didn’t drop to his knees. So he did, and, with their hands and mouths all over each other, they’d ended up here on the porch daybed, giving each other pleasure until they were too worn out for anything but sleep.

With an expression still drowsy and dazed, Armitage snuggles closer when Ben lifts a hand to stroke his gown. The moon is bright enough that Ben can see the shine of Armitage’s eyes when he tilts his head back to get a better look at Ben, after pressing a last kiss to the heel of his palm.

But there’s something more to the shine in his eyes than ordinary moonlight. As Ben realises this, Armitage brings his hand up to his own cheek and brushes away the drop of saltwater with the pad of his thumb.

“You’re—what’s wrong? What happened?” In Ben’s chest, something clenches like a fist.

Armitage doesn’t cry often, and when he does, it’s always for a reason. Every time, Ben has to fight the urge to destroy anything that would hurt his Armie—now his husband.

“It was a dream. Only a dream,” Armitage says matter-of-factly, even as he wriggles on the daybed mattress to snuggle close to Ben again. Ben pulls him into his arms, hugging him, tangling their legs together, stroking Armitage’s hair.

“Dreams can—dreams can be important.”

The huff of breath from Armitage’s derisive snort is warm on Ben’s neck.

“Dreams are only dreams,” Armitage says firmly. “Especially this one. It was ridiculous, the sort of nightmare I used to have as a child. Wretched. I haven’t any idea where it came from.”

Ben hesitates. Should he ask more about the dream? Would Armitage tell him? With his thumb, he strokes over Armitage’s temple, his soft sideburn, his softer cheek. When Armitage lifts his head to gaze at Ben again, Ben decides. He repeats his question.

“What happened?”

For a moment, Armitage is silent, eyes distant, mouth tight.

“It was strange; I—I was in outer space, on some sort of starship, like in a science fiction film. Everyone was in funny uniforms. They all looked unhappy. I don’t know what there was to complain about. They were in space, after all. They ought to have recognised the inherent appeal of such an experience.

“At any rate, one of the men on the ship was a man I knew when I was small—I’ve never told you about him, but he was one of my father’s friends, involved with the worst of Brendol’s deeds, before Sloane intervened. Pryde was his name, Eric, or something. In the dream, he pulled out a ray-gun and shot me in the chest. It sounds silly, but I was frightened. Terribly so. Because you weren’t there. You were supposed to be there, and you were gone.”

“I’m here,” Ben interrupts. Armitage’s voice has dropped to a tremble of air against Ben’s cheek. Ben needs to reassure him, to reassure them both that nothing could separate them, not now that they’re married, not ever.

“Yes, yes, of course you’re here.” Armitage still sounds distant, but sharper now, more like himself. “But in the dream you were gone. I’d lost you. And then some soldiers in white plastic armour came and dragged me—this was after I’d been shot—they dragged me to a rubbish chute and tossed me down into the depths of the ship as I was dying.” He pauses. “I told you it was ridiculous.”

The dream might be somewhat ridiculous coming from anyone else but Armitage. But Armitage doesn’t have dreams like this, nor does he cling to Ben’s chest and recount them at the verge of tears. Ben’s stomach twists with guilt, as though he really did abandon Armitage in the dream. As though he should have been there to stop this, to save him. 

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” says Ben. He wraps his other arm around Armitage’s warm, silk-covered back. Armitage squirms gratefully closer.

“I haven’t told you the strangest part,” Armitage says. He glances up from Ben’s chest, and there’s something dark and faraway in his gaze.

Outside, above, the moon is growing dim as fog and clouds roll in, and even with the brisk wind and the cheerful crash of the sea, the moment makes Ben’s skin creep. Armitage’s nightmare is too familiar, like a dream Ben’s had before, seen from a different point of view. Maybe it shouldn’t unsettle him this much. But the night and the forest are deep, and their cottage is full of empty rooms. For the first time since the start of their honeymoon, Ben feels the distance. How, on this deserted strip of coast, they’re very far from home.

“The strangest part—” Armitage pauses for breath, spreads his hand flat on Ben’s chest “—was when I was down the chute with all the rubbish. That’s when I heard a sound. Vividly. Like it was really there. It was like if the darkness had started to make a noise. I couldn’t sit up, because I was nearly dead in the dream, but out of the corner of my eye I could see the dark...moving. Sort of...clotting up, into the shape of. Well. There’s no other way to say it. A monster.”

The hollow crash of the waves fills the quiet as Ben swallows. He hopes Armitage can’t feel his heartbeat through his fingertips. It wouldn’t do any good to let on that the dream has shaken him, too.

Ben tries to make his voice light. “There was a monster in the trash with you?”

Armitage snorts and pokes Ben under the chin with one knuckle, not gently. “You make it sound like a ruddy children’s special, you beast.”

If Armitage is getting prickly with him again, this is a good sign. Armitage doesn’t readily talk about his woes, but once he does, his mood tends to return quickly to his usual disdainful state. He must be feeling a bit better already.

Ben takes the risk and jokes, “It was one of the monsters from your toy collection.”

In the fading moonlight, Armitage’s face is a mask of outrage. He sits up on his elbows. “It was _not that sort of dream,_ Ben Organa-Solo.” 

“Do you have a lot of dreams about your monsters? Should I be jealous? Let me guess. This one was covered with big, _thick_ tentacles.” 

It’s too dark to see Armitage blush, but when he hides his face in Ben’s neck, the heat on his cheeks is pronounced against Ben’s skin.

“That has nothing to do with it.” Armitage’s voice comes out petulant and muffled against Ben’s neck. “It was a very upsetting dream. You are my husband and should be consoling me, not teasing me for my preferred private indulgences.”

“Wait. It _was_ a tentacle monster? You had a nightmare about a tentacle monster! You didn’t bring any of those toys with you. Is your subconscious missing them?” 

A graze of sharp teeth over Ben’s neck. Armitage has nipped him, though he’s still snuggled close.

“Wretched boy. I was left for dead at the mercy of a vile creature, and all you can think about is sex?”

“You’re the one who said it was only a dream.”

It’s not in Ben’s nature to dismiss Armitage’s subconscious impressions. Ben is inclined to take dreams seriously—he’s had his own share of dreams of deep space and faceless uniformed men. The more he considers it, the more it disturbs him that Armitage dreams of the same dark fictions.

So, he can’t let his mind go there. If he broods about it, they’ll both get the creeps, here in this cottage on a dark and lonely strip of forested shore, where there’s no one else around for a mile or more.

“What happened in the end?” Ben dares to ask, when Armitage has been silent for too long, nuzzling into his neck for comfort.

At his words, Armitage sighs. “It just...it ended. Cut to black. The monster never reached me—they never do, in dreams. I woke up and I was still filled with that terror from the dream. From you not being there. The monster wasn’t nearly so bad as the fact that you were...gone. As though I’d never had you. And then I woke up, and...well, you saw the state I was in.”

Ben would hardly call a few tears a _state_ , but Armitage is strict with himself where emotions are concerned. Too strict. It’s a mark of the seriousness of the situation that he’s even letting himself cling to Ben like this. Ben turns, leans to kiss the top of Armitage’s head in reassurance. 

Uncharacteristically, Armitage doesn’t scoff or snort in derision. He only spreads his fingers wider over Ben’s chest and cranes his neck into the kiss.

“I’m here,” Ben repeats. “I’ll always be here. Until death us do part, right? Or whatever church people say. Forever. Me, for you.”

Armitage does snort this time, but it’s fond, soft, almost a laugh. “I wouldn’t allow anything less.”

“And even after death. Even if I were dead, I’d still be crazy about you. I’d come back as a ghost and follow you everywhere.” Ben pauses, sparing a thought for the afternoon’s activities, before they both fell fast asleep. “Can ghosts suck cock? Would you still fuck my mouth if I were a ghost?”

Armitage leans away, wrinkling his nose in his charming way. “I can’t receive sexual pleasure from a nonexistent entity. There’s no evidence of consciousness persisting after death. Ghosts don’t exist.” 

“Tentacle monsters don’t exist either,” Ben teases, trailing a hand down Armitage’s back to flip up the hem of his short silk robe. “Doesn’t stop you from wanting one to pleasure you.”

Armitage’s soft little ass is warm in Ben’s hand, just the right size to squeeze. Between his thighs, he’s still slick from this afternoon. When Ben grazes a finger over the silky, slightly puffy rim of his hole, Armitage shivers in his arms.

“Like this,” Ben murmurs. “It would tease you like this, before it plunged into you and rav—”

“Ben. You’re playing at being a tentacle monster? This dream really isn’t one of mine you need to make come true.”

In spite of his words, Armitage’s tone is mild, breathy. He cants his hips to give Ben better access to the inside of him.

He has a point, though. Ben doesn’t like to dismiss Armitage’s dream. If it were daylight, he’d be asking questions, trying to understand the connection between this nightmare and the flashes of dreams he has sometimes, the ones so vivid they might as well be memories. In these scraps of vision, Ben is on a spaceship, too, ruling over planets and stars. He has power, so much power, bitter as bile, corroding him from within. In these dreams, he scares himself. He wakes up uneasy, not certain where his mind came up with these impressions.

When facing problems like this one, which have no clear explanation in the everyday world, Ben thinks reluctantly of his uncle. When Ben, in his childhood, woke screaming from nightmares, it was Luke who encouraged him to make new endings to his bad dreams, to change the dream until it didn’t scare him anymore.

Luke was barred from the wedding. He doesn’t approve of Armitage, because Armitage designs machines that kill people. Likewise, Ben doesn’t approve of Luke, because Luke is a hypocrite, a spiritual zealot, and an attempted murderer—even if no one believes Ben about that last part. Still, some of Luke’s tactics retain their practical value in spite of their origins. 

“I’m changing the ending of your dream. I’m making it better.”

“There’s nothing _better_ about dying alone in a rubbish heap if a tentacle monster is trying to have its way with me,” Armitage sniffs, still clinging to Ben, leaning into his touch. 

Again, Armitage has a point. Ben will have to get more creative. To clear his head, he sits up against the daybed cushions. He eases Armitage up with him, so he can lie between Ben’s legs and Ben can stroke his chest and waist and thighs through his robe. Armitage willingly moves, turning in Ben’s arms, still snuggling close with his back to Ben’s chest.

“What if I’m there?” Ben supplies. “And you’re not dying, or hurt, or anything. What if you just want to get fucked by a space monster while I watch?”

Armitage sighs in mock resignation, even as his heartbeat quickens under Ben’s hand on his chest. His little nipples are pearl-hard beneath his robe. If they weren’t in this position, Ben would put his mouth on them, licking and sucking until Armitage was a pleading mess.

“I’d like that more,” Armitage concedes, sounding bitter about it. “You’d come all over yourself, watching me. Wouldn’t you? Watching it defile me. Ruin me. Your pretty husband, a sacrifice for the monster.”

Armitage laces his voice with mock sorrow. But his hands are on Ben’s now, guiding one down his belly and the other up to wrap around his throat. He slips his legs under Ben’s, pressing the cold soles of his feet against Ben’s ankles. Spreading his legs for Ben to stroke between them, along the impossible softness of his inner thighs.

“I’d be the ruler of the Galaxy,” says Ben. “And you would be, too. My husband, even in space. In any universe, you’d be mine.” He nudges his nose against the side of Armitage’s face, nuzzling his sideburn.

“Yes, yes, get on with it. I’m yours forever, of course, yes, we said this at the ceremony. How are you supposed to sacrifice me to a tentacle monster if we’re happily married? Healthy relationships are the stuff of reality, not fantasy.”

Ben bites back a laugh. Even after they’ve spent nearly a week in each other’s arms, adoring each other and cuddling by the shore, Armitage still thinks it’s more fun to play with darker roles in bed. But Ben doesn’t mind getting a chance to pretend to be his opposite once in a while. The best part comes after their games, when he’s shown his worst traits and Armitage still kisses him, satisfied, more in love than ever.

“We’re evil, then,” Ben agrees. “I’m a tyrant thirsty for blood, and you’re equally vicious, but I have more power. Which means I can sacrifice you to a monster. For a ritual, so I can gain even greater power.”

Armitage turns, squirming in his arms to press a short kiss to his mouth. “Why,” he asks when they break apart, noses brushing, “would you do something like that to the man you loved? I’m not big and strong like you. I’m delicate. A monster like that one...it might break me. I’d be sore all over. Loose and sloppy, dripping with slime or...eggs, or whatever the monster put inside me.”

“You’d have bruises, wouldn’t you?” With a hand across his throat, Ben tips Armitage’s neck to the side and nips at the soft skin. “From the suction cups. Red rings all over your skin. You’d be beautiful when you were back in my arms. I’d kiss all of them.”

Armitage gasps, squirms in such a way that Ben’s cock, already hardening, makes contact with the soft part of Armitage’s rear. Unable to keep back an inelegant, desperate noise, Ben shifts his weight against Armitage, seeking more friction. He slides a hand up Armitage’s thigh to circle the base of his cock with forefinger and thumb, using his other fingers to stroke his balls. Armitage hisses with pleasure and squirms again, deliciously.

“You’re—that’s cruel. Taking pleasure in my degradation. Admiring it.”

“I’m a terrible man,” says Ben, which makes Armitage shiver and shift again, turning until Ben’s erection is pressed into his side.

“You are. My terrible, evil, inconceivably powerful husband. Supreme ruler of an entire galaxy of stars. You’d give me to the monster to do its worst, wouldn’t you? It would pull me down into its seaside cave and ruin my lovely silk clothes, ravish me. And you’d watch. You wouldn’t care if I survived, much less whether I enjoyed it.”

“I’d always care about you,” Ben insists. “I would do the ritual for our benefit. An act of sacrificial magic. So that our reign among the stars would last forever. I’d kill anything that tried to harm you.”

Even in roleplay, some things don’t change.

Armitage glances over his shoulder at Ben. Once more, his eyes have a moonlit gleam, but now without the tears.

“You _would_ protect me, wouldn’t you? So big and strong. Hold me tighter. Around my throat. I want you to lift me up onto your cock. For this story, I’d rather have you inside me.” 

At first Ben forgets there’s no nightstand next to the daybed, and has to grope in the dark until he finds the bottle of lube on the nearest of the rattan chairs. But he finds it, and wastes no time in generously slicking himself and Armitage.

“You’ve fucked me so many times today, you won’t even have to prepare me,” Armitage says, reaching behind himself to his hole. Ben joins him. Both their forefingers can slip easily inside, where Armitage is so soft and hot. Just the thought of that heat around his cock has Ben biting his lip to keep from whining. 

“Ah. That’s good. Ben, go ahead. Oh, you’re so good. So big. My good big boy. Could a monster fill me better than you do? I’m not sure.”

Lifting his hips, Armitage sinks slowly down until he’s fully seated on Ben’s cock. They’ve done this every day since arriving at the sea for their honeymoon, but even with that, it’s so good to be inside Armitage again that the pleasure makes Ben bury his face in the side of his neck, where Armitage smells like citrus and tastes like salt. 

“You’d walk me down to the sea cliffs,” Armitage says, voice hollow with desire as he shifts in Ben’s lap and leans back against his chest. His hole flutters with the motion, tightening around Ben’s cock. “I’d be shivering in the fog and the darkness, clinging to you, afraid and excited all at once. You would dress me in a robe like this one. Gauzy white, over some scraps of shell-pink lace. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Your pretty sacrifice, prepared to your preferences exactly. Ready to be split open and ruined.”

Ben can only clench his fingers on Armitage’s thighs, moaning. The soft tightness around him is perfect. It’s hard to believe Armitage is full of cock, since he retains enough composure to speak with eloquent authority. Ben is weak for his husband all the time, and weakest at moments like this, when Armitage shows off his many gifts. 

“I would say, _please, no, don’t do this, Supreme Leader,_ but you would be—ah, you like that, don’t you? When I call you _Supreme Leader._ You would be merciless. You’d use your powers to keep me still, with a hand around my throat. T _he strength of our Empire depends on your sacrifice,_ you’d say to me. _Survive this ritual, and we will both rule for eternity._ You’d be able to read my mind, with your powers. You’d see how badly I wanted to be the monster’s prey—ah, nhh, that feels good—even though I would pretend to be afraid.” 

“You’d do anything for our empire.” Ben is panting, teeth to Armitage’s neck. It’s not the first time they’ve enjoyed Armitage’s fantasies about ocean monsters, but the scope of this fantasy—the power dynamics of it—makes it different. Better. Armitage, a willing sacrifice, facing death in a monster’s cave for the sake of ruling forever with Ben among the stars.

“Anything,” Armitage confirms. “I’d let the monster stretch out a great slimy arm and pull me down into its black pit of seaweed and salt ooze. I’d be the picture of dignity as I let go of your hand. Stoic, resigned...but you’d be able to tell how my heart was pounding with desire. You would inch to the edge of the monster’s den and look down into it and see...”

Armitage moves on Ben’s cock in a practised, orderly way, as though he’s following a plan to get them both off. It’s such a contrast to the rough mess of their fantasy that Ben has to break the routine. He slides his hands up from Armitage’s thighs to his hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, fucking him up and down on his cock. Armitage arches his back and lets out a little scream of pleasure as Ben runs one hand up Armitage’s stomach and chest to spread his fingers across his throat.

“ _Yes_ ,” Armitage keens, writhing under Ben’s touch. “You monster, ah, just like that. Good boy. You’d see the creature take me into its writhing— _yes_ —nest of tentacles, wrapping me in them without mercy. A dark entity, with sharp teeth along its arms, to leave its mark on my skin. I would tremble and surrender to it. I’d be dripping with its slime, black as ink, as it tore off my pretty clothes and left my dressing-gown stained and tattered. It would fill me and fuck me with its thickest tentacle, not gentle, but slow. Torturous. I would gasp and ache and struggle against the tentacles around my wrists and thighs and throat.”

Ben can see it in his mind—other tentacles forcing Armitage’s head back to plunge into his mouth, more writhing thick between his thighs. Pulling apart his legs at the ankle, trying to enter him anywhere they can. He would be so full and stretched, choking on his moans, mindless with the pleasure of it. Armitage is small-framed, not sturdy like Ben. His body is soft and slim, and would stand no chance against a monster. Armitage would have to take whatever it gave him, opening for it, the way he opens for Ben.

“Tighter,” Armitage urges, leaning into Ben’s hand on his neck. “Make me feel it. Fuck me, and then make me breakfast at dawn.”

There’s a wicked smile on Armitage’s face as he tips his head back for Ben’s hand. Ben matches it, but he hides his smile in the side of Armitage’s face, nuzzling him, gripping his throat more firmly, but not too tight.

Armitage squirms in a gratifying way. His hole flutters around Ben, and his hips twitch to draw Ben even deeper inside him.

“I was made for you,” Armitage gasps, in character again. “Please, Ben, fuck me. Use me. Make me your sacrifice...give my body to an alien _thing_ , for our Empire’s glory. I’ll let you. Anything you want. I’m yours.” 

What’s unsaid goes without saying. _You are mine, too, which means you’d do anything for me. You’d protect me from any creature that truly tried to hurt me._ Ben can practically hear it in Armitage’s voice, teasing and proud, like Armitage is speaking inside his head.

“It would play with you here, too.” Ben drags both hands up Armitage’s body to his nipples, to roll the hard little peaks of them between finger and thumb. Armitage makes a strangled whine and clenches again around Ben, the muscles of his hole twitching as he arches his back and moans with abandon.

“You’re so easy,” Ben whispers, but it sounds like praise. “My beautiful sacrifice. Here, you want to come? Want me to stroke you? Or could you come like this, with just my hands on your nipples and my big cock stretching you full?”

“Ah—how am I supposed to give orders when you’re— _nnh_ —wrecking me? You’re supposed to act like an alien monster. Take what you want from me. Come inside me.” Armitage pauses, letting Ben fuck him, catching his breath before he continues. “After the monster, I’d be so full of slime and come that my whole body would ache with it. When I was free of its clutches I’d slump at your feet and cling to your knees, covered in ink. Ravaged. Ruined.”

“You’d be beautiful,” Ben says, nipping at Armitage’s neck hard enough to leave a mark.

“You’d stroke yourself and come all over me as I shivered at your feet, wouldn’t you? White spend all over black ink. Just to defile me further. You couldn’t help yourself; you’d be aching to fuck me even with a monster’s slime dripping out of my hole. Mad with desire for me. Ohh, my Ben. _Oh_.” 

Ben’s hands are lower now, one wrapping all the way around Armitage’s lovely cock. It’s hot and alive in Ben’s palm, the head dripping pre-come over his fingers. Armitage gasps, bucks into Ben’s touch, even as Ben spreads his other hand over Armitage’s belly, pressing him down onto his cock.

“Oh,” Armitage whines again, bringing his hands up to his own nipples. “You’re so _big_ , you’re fucking me so good, please, Ben, more, don’t stop, I need you...” 

He trails off into moans, arching his back and burying his face in his own forearm, stifling his cries. Still with one hand around Armitage’s cock, Ben brings a finger to the rim of Armitage’s hole, circling it, slipping it inside with his cock to stretch him even further. Armitage cries out, thrusting his hips back to take more of Ben inside him. His thighs shake in a tremor that runs up his body as he comes all over Ben’s hand, spurting hot across his belly and the daybed sheets.

“That’s good,” Ben says, voice ragged with awe as he strokes Armitage through his orgasm. “You’re so good. Doing this for our empire.”

At this last, Armitage moans again, and his cock gives another twitch, another spurt of come. It only takes a few more harsh thrusts before Ben is coming too, making a mess of Armitage inside, where he’s soft and hot and the perfect shape for Ben. He slumps against Armitage’s back, teeth grazing his shoulder, making snuffling noises into Armitage’s neck, lost in pleasure.

Armitage tilts his hips as Ben fills him. His hole pulses in time with his strong heartbeat, drawing out Ben’s orgasm until he nearly can’t bear it. Behind Ben's eyes, there’s a darkness without stars, and his head is full of the smell of Armitage, salty sweat and lemon soap and come.

After a long, timeless moment in each other’s arms, Armitage leans forward to let Ben pull out of him. A pearly slick of come and lube drips down from his hole, and Ben shakily bends to lick it up before it can ruin Armitage’s silk robe. Come on the sheets is one thing—they can wash them with no trouble—but Armitage’s lingerie is far more precious than any bed linens.

There’s so much inside Armitage that Ben shuts his eyes as he swallows it down, licking inside for more. Armitage’s breath hitches at the pass of Ben’s hungry tongue over his hole, which is soft and puffy at the rim. He wiggles his hips, letting Ben’s tongue inside him to lick him clean.

“Good boy,” Armitage says weakly, as though he’s already abandoned their roleplay. But when Ben leans back against the pillows and pulls Armitage to his chest, Armitage returns to his thoughts of monsters from the depths of space.

“The creature would make me come so many times, until I’d lost all awareness of myself. I’d be senseless with pleasure.” With a sigh, Armitage cuddles against Ben’s chest, circling a nipple with the tip of his finger, looking up at Ben with those shining, moonlit eyes.

“Am I supposed to take that as a challenge?”

Armitage shakes his head, his eyes soft. “You’ve done more than enough of that already this week, you beast.” He leans forward to brush his lips across Ben’s chin, then his mouth, before settling down on his chest again.

It’s true enough. On their first night here, Ben stripped off Armitage’s sharp wedding suit, down to the cream-pale lace beneath, and held him down on the bed to fuck him, carefully at first, then roughly, with a possessive edge. By the deepest part of the night, Armitage had a vibrating massager inside him, which made him come until he was flushed and tear-streaked and more beautiful than Ben could have imagined. Then Ben fucked him again, a few more times, until, tangled in each other, they fell asleep at nearly the same moment, to wake in the afternoon of the next day.

His _husband_. Ben still isn’t used to it. Since he met Armitage, things have gone right in his life, consistently. But sometimes the old fear creeps back in, the fear that things will go wrong again and again, the way they did in his youth. Luke, Rey, the horrible years with Ren, whom Ben doesn’t even like to think about. The work with Snoke he took on to get close to Armitage, back when he was lying to himself that Armitage was a stuck-up prick and definitely not his type. 

Even in those days, Ben altered his plans to fit Armitage into them. Their connection was irresistible, obsession mixed with fate. In his thoughts, Ben doesn’t hesitate to call Armitage a soulmate, though he’s not sure what the word exactly means. His best guess is that some spirits must travel together across lifetimes, the way migrant seabirds mate for life and find each other every season.

As the fog rolls in again to obscure the full moon, Ben’s heartbeat slows, and he thinks once more of Armitage’s dream. Somewhere in space, in some distant galaxy, there have to be other living creatures. There are too many planets and stars for life on Earth to be all there is.

Perhaps the universe is full of monsters, hungry for fluids and flesh, for any living sacrifice to sustain them. Perhaps the stars belong to tyrants, who crush all life beneath their armies’ boots. Or perhaps, in truth, the universe _is_ dark and lifeless, and the Earth is as lonely in space as Ben and Armitage are on this strip of shore, where the vast ocean licks at the land, rising to cover it and wear it away. 

Or perhaps, on some distant planet, there is peace. It’s possible that long ago, Ben was with Armitage there, and their souls and bodies were one, just as they are now. Ben would wish to dream of that place, that life—but then, after all, he already has this one.

The sky will be blue soon, the deep dim blue before morning. Armitage asked for breakfast. Ben will cook pancakes with lemon, and Armitage will shower until he’s clean, and after their meal, Ben will press kisses to every bite he’s left on Armitage’s soft hot skin.

Whatever glimpses of the past their dreams have shown them, any other lifetime will remain a mystery. But they have this life. Every day of it, from now on. With each other, as two and as one, in love, for as long as they both are lucky enough to live.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sternfleck) and [tumblr](https://sternfleck.tumblr.com/).


End file.
